Category: Reflections

It is that time of year when giant inflatable Grinches assume control of front lawns. They billow incongruously over diminutive lambs, kneeling in a dusting of snow and the promise of a White Christmas. The sheep gaze adoringly at a White baby in a plastic manger, his arms raised towards White parents, who many social conservatives note look just like them. Mary's robe is so pristine. There is no hint in her placid face of the refugee she is soon to become, fleeing the violent whims of a jealous king.

But I digress, because it is December, and my starting point was supposed to be Charles Dickens, though not, as one might have thought, that wonderful tale about miserliness and redemption, A Christmas Carol, but rather a more devastating tale of two cities.

In a climactic scene near the end of the book, a loyal governess called Miss Pross ferociously protects her charge, Lucie Manette, against a life-threatening intruder named Madame Defarge. Dickens describes it thus in his moving novel of sacrifice and second chances, A Tale of Two Cities (1859):

Miss Pross, with the vigorous tenacity of love, always so much stronger than hate, clasped her tight and even lifted her from the floor in the struggle that they had.

I am inspired by Miss Pross's courage, fuelled by the vigorous tenacity of love, always so much stronger than hate. Today, hate seems to be winning, and all too often it is unleashed by the very groups who claim to worship that beatific baby in a manger.

Even Canada, a nation with a global reputation for politesse, has seen a calamitous rise in hate crimes, with police-reported incidents more than doubling since 2019. Many acts of hate are fuelled by religious intolerance, especially antisemitism and Islamophobia, but Canada has also experienced a surge in hate crimes targeting Two Spirit, queer, and trans individuals. Anti-Asian hate crimes have also risen sharply since the onset of COVID-19. 

And then there is the hatred directed at those experiencing homelessness. It isn't always violent in a physical sense, though the unhoused population in Canada faces many vicious attacks. Feelings of resentment or animosity and prejudiced thinking are also hate. So is discrimination embedded in policies and laws. 

Where is our vigorous tenacity of love? The roll-up-your-sleeves-and-get-angry love? I call this muscular love. It's the love that refuses to judge on the basis of difference, that speaks out against racism, religious intolerance, sexism, queer- and trans-phobia, ageism, and so on. Love doesn't turn away when it is afraid. Love runs towards in spite of personal risk. 

If personal risk feels too big, remember this: not all muscular love is dangerous love. Hiring the kid with the single mom to shovel your driveway or visiting a lonely senior citizen are also acts of love. These, too, are running towards.

Reflecting on these loving actions calls to mind an appeal I heard innumerable times as a child, in a story about a man sometimes called the Good Shepherd: Feed my sheep, he said to his friend, Peter. If you love me, feed my lambs. In an age of profound hunger, sharing our food is a radical act.

The Good Shepherd stands among good company. I like the kindred spirits he might find in the shepherds and cowherds of Buddhist, Hindu, and Muslim stories who also embody loving care. The Prophet Muhammed is said to have remarked that every prophet has tended sheep. I see this kind of prophet as a figure to whom we might all aspire: one who perceives hidden truths and possesses the courage to utter them.

Stories of brave and loving caretakers abound across cultures, religions, geographies, languages, and peoples. When I feel the weight of the world's hate on my shoulders, I hang onto these stories and am heartened by the vigorous tenacity of love.

So here's to us doing our best to love in an age of hate. Love is stronger. We are stronger. Happy Holidays to you, and may Miss Pross's lion-hearted love guide us through the season.

It is October and the air is cool. Here in Atlantic Canada, we are — I deeply hope — nearing the end of a season of drought and wildfires. Crops were decimated as heat and flame ripped across the province at distressing rates. The lives of countless animals, including humans, were imperilled and the food security of those already made most vulnerable was severely compromised. I write in the past tense, as July and August are behind us, but summer's devastation has nevertheless grabbed autumn by the throat.

The fire and famine of which I write are regional disasters, rendered miniscule when held up against the catastrophes happening globally. Jumping quickly to mind are the violent conflicts being enacted on various parts of this beloved planet, directed by dangerous and self-serving 'leaders' — a title they neither embody nor deserve. The scale of Eastern Canada's devastation is likewise diminished when I consider other heart-shattering tragedies playing out elsewhere: mass shootings, for example, or the terrifying erosion of democracy.

Though we may have secure professions and sit well-fed; though we may live thousands of kilometres from war and other violent clashes, we are not exempt from grief, from a gnawing sense of loss. How do we cope in such difficult times?

To help me, I often turn to a passage in T.H. White's 1958 novel, The Once and Future King. In the excerpt below, Merlin — the beloved magician who teaches a young Arthur all he holds dear — offers an inspiring lesson to the boy who will one day rule Britain:

"The best thing for being sad,' replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, 'is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn."

Accordingly, I have begun choosing activities from a list I created in the Notes app on my phone called Things to Learn. This month, I have picked up French study again after a hiatus. I am also beginning to look for First Aid courses, as my certification is woefully out of date. This was inspired by a recent incident in a local park, where I encountered a person lying motionless, face down, in an ornamental fountain. I ran over to help, knowing I was ignorant of the best course of action. (Good news! The person was OK.)

Not on my list, but things I'm also doing to offset the sadness include: practising new forms in haidong gumdo (Korean sword fighting), and reading a gorgeously contemplative novel — Greek Lessons — by the celebrated Korean writer, Han Kang. She reminds me in her finely-wrought prose of the lifegiving forces of language and human connection. 

Merlin was right! I'm feeling better already.

For information about a poetry workshop Julie Sutherland is facilitating on collective, private, and ecological grief, click here. Hosted by the London Literary Salon.